


Johncroft Story

by FandumbGirl



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M, tw: fire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-26
Updated: 2014-10-26
Packaged: 2018-02-21 21:31:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2483144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FandumbGirl/pseuds/FandumbGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When John is mistaken for Sherlock, he is kidnapped and the danger reveals feelings people didn't realize they had for others.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Johncroft Story

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FeliciaHM](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeliciaHM/gifts).



> This is a (very very late) present to FeliciaHM. I hope she enjoys it. Also thanks to FlutterFyre for betaing this for me. If there are any mistakes or typos, you can completely blame me. She is wonderful and a great beta. And sorry I couldn't think of a decent title.

Lestrade walked with John to the entrance of New Scotland Yard after the doctor came to drop off some paper work from the latest case Sherlock and he had done. They chatted about random things, before they reached the door.

"Thanks again for that insight into the case. Without Sherlock and your help, I'm sure tonight would be another long night for me."

John grinned. He knew Lestrade would rather be at the office working than home where his wife would most likely nag him about something. "It's really no problem. Who knows what we would do with our time if we weren't chasing down criminals for the police." He gave an eye roll. "I'm sure this is much more constructive than whatever he would be doing with his time otherwise."

The men shared a laugh before John turned to walk down the road to the Tube. Before he could get half a block down the road a black car pulled up next to him. At first glance, he assumed it was Mycroft come to complain to him about something to do with Sherlock, but a second look made him see this car was nowhere near the quality Mycroft would ride in. The two hulking men that jumped out of the car, threw a bag over his head, and pulled him into the car confirmed his suspicions.

Panic started rising up in John's chest, but his military training and what he'd learned from time with Sherlock quickly squashed it. A zen fell over him. This wasn't his first kidnapping and if life continued the way it was going, it probably wouldn't be his last. At least this time he was alone and didn't have to worry about the safety of someone else like he did last time with Sarah.

John realized he was letting his thoughts roam too much and he needed to focus. Running around the city so much the past year with Sherlock gave John a pretty good mental map. He went back in his mind to see if he could remember what turns they had taken so far and what direction they were headed.

Soon he was able to approximate where they were and shifted his main focus to the men around him. They had some sort of accent. John couldn't be completely sure with the way they were muttering to each other. It was definitely not British. Maybe American. It had been a long time since he heard an American accent and wasn't sure he could positively identify it.

He thought there was another man and a woman in the car with them, but he couldn't be too sure. Their voices were too low for him to hear what they were saying, so he decided to turn his full attention back to tracking their position.

The car continued for another half an hour before slowing to a stop. From what John could deduce, they were in a more run down, factory area he had only been in a few times before. Two people maneuvered him out of the car; John assumed it was the same two that brought him into the car.

They pushed him to get him to start walking, after a few steps, John tripped up a few stairs before his steps echoed around him. After being pushed into a chair and tied down, the hood was finally taken off his head. Looking around, he realized he was right; they were in what looked to be an abandoned warehouse, suitably ominous for a kidnapping.

The woman was standing directly in front of him. John took a moment to commit as much as he could about her to memory. It was obvious she was the one in charge; she had the same bearing military officers had. She was black with her hair pulled back into a severe bun. Her tailored slate grey suit seemed out of place with her surroundings, but she had a presence he could only compare to Mycroft that made her seem like she would be comfortable in that suit anywhere.

"Sherlock Holmes. So, we finally meet."

***

Sherlock noticed John wasn't home only after Mycroft asked about him. Mycroft had come to 221B half an hour earlier to get Sherlock to agree to work on a case for him. He knew John was filling out paperwork for their last case with The Yard and tried to correspond his arrival to be a few minutes before John got home. Just enough time for Sherlock to get irritated at him and refuse to take the case. He knew when John got home, he would be able to prevail upon him the importance of the case and John would make Sherlock take it.

It was just a bonus that Mycroft would be able to see the handsome doctor.

Alas, it had been half an hour and John should have arrived home at least fifteen minutes ago, yet he had not and Mycroft and Sherlock were sitting in stony silence. Mycroft refused to leave and Sherlock couldn't be bothered to force him.

Finally Mycroft got tired of waiting, stood up and went into the kitchen, pulling out his phone on his way. Not giving a proper greeting, Mycroft immediately launched into instructions for his assistant.

"I need you to find Doctor Watson. He should have been home already and he isn't."

He ignored Sherlock's sidelong glances as waited a few moments for Anthea to check a few surveillance videos to track John's progress home. He knew Anthea would only need a few moments to track down what had happened to waylay Dr. Watson and he wasn't disappointed. He hoped it was something as simple as the man stopping off at Tesco for some shopping, but a feeling in his stomach told him this was not the case. Usually he would be happy to be proven right, but this time all he felt was a white hot anger.

"Dr. Watson left Scotland Yard forty-three minutes ago. Shortly after leaving a black car pulled up beside him, two men got out, threw a bag over his head, and drove away."

"Is that all you know?"

"Give me a few more minutes, Sir, and I can identify where they went and who they are."

Mycroft hung up the phone and silently sat staring at the wall. Sherlock had been watching him the entire phone conversation. On the outside Mycroft looked his usual unflappable self, but Sherlock could see beyond that. Mycroft's knuckles were turning white from gripping the phone so hard; his lips were pressed together, thinning them out; finally, and the most damning evidence for Sherlock, there were beads of sweat dotting his forehead. Mycroft only sweated when two things happened: he exercised or he was pissed beyond measure. 

The question was why.

Sure, Sherlock assumed from the half of the conversation he hears that John has been abducted (wouldn't be the first time). But why would Mycroft be so angry and...Sherlock observed his brother a few more seconds. Yes. It was concern he detected. So why in the world would Mycroft be angry and concerned about Sherlock's flatmate being taken. Unless...No. Sherlock refused to let the thought enter his mind. 

But it did make sense. Mycroft's impeccable timing of always arriving at 221b only a few minutes before John arrived, his always accepting John's offer of tea despite never drinking it, and now the worrying. Oh God. Sherlock stumbled back a few steps. Mycroft had feelings for John.

Sherlock wasn't entirely sure how to process this new information. For now he had to be wary of Mycroft's reactions to John's apparent kidnapping. If Mycroft really did have feelings for John, then he would not take kindly to someone taking what he saw as his. So yes, Sherlock would need to keep an eye on Mycroft's reactions to the situation. He had the habit of getting overzealous and violent when overwhelmed. Luckily it was a rare event.

People were surprised when Sherlock nearly killed a man for laying a hand on Mrs. Hudson, but no one realized that he was tame compared to the rage that simmered under the three-piece suits of his elder brother.

***

"I told you before. I. Am. Not. Sherlock. Bloody hell." The woman was still insisting that he was Sherlock no matter how much he protested. The men she'd had drag him in had faded back into the shadows, but John could still hear their footsteps echoing through the room along with some other faint noises.

"Mr. Holmes." John rolled his eyes. "My employer is paying a great deal to have you eliminated, so it matters not to me if you want to deny it, but either way a body will be found in this location. And I can tell you the body will definitely be yours."

John thought hard about how he could get out of this. He never knew when Sherlock would notice he was gone; it could be hours or days depending on when Sherlock needed something.

Shit. How did he get himself into these situations?

The woman was still talking. John reined his thoughts back in to focus on what she was saying.

"...employer said to tell you, the fire will cleanse your presence from the world and free her from your meddling. Goodbye Sherlock Holmes." 

John was shocked by what he was hearing. Fire to cleanse. Couldn't mean what he thought it meant. But the woman and her goons were already walking out. That's when the smell of gasoline hit him. That must have been what the men were doing; dousing the place in gasoline in preparation. When the group reached the door, John saw one of the men fumble with something before throwing it on the floor and slamming the door shut.

Flames erupted, spreading through the warehouse faster than John expected.

He had survived Afghanistan and now in the "safety" of London he was finally dying. Harry warned him that Sherlock would be the death of him, but he always brushed it off. 

Damn. How would Harry cope with John dying? He hoped Sherlock would be able to avenge his death at least. That would bring Harry a little comfort. Hell, most likely it would be Mycroft. Sherlock would solve the murder and Mycroft would extract revenge.

Mycroft.

Lord, the things he wanted to say to Mycroft. Ever since their first meeting, in a warehouse much like this, John had been attracted to him. The poise and self assurance attracted him like a moth to a flame. 

After first thinking Mycroft was some sort of criminal mastermind, then seeing the hatred between his new roommate and his brother, John knew he had to keep his feelings to himself. He kept his flirting down to the snark he knew he could get away with in front of Sherlock.

John wasn't a religious man, but he swore to God if he got out of this alive he would tell Mycroft how he felt. Even if it meant abject rejection, he had to get it off his chest.

The flames were quickly engulfing everything around him. Sweat dripped down into John's eyes. He pulled at his bindings in an attempt to get his wrists out, but they wouldn't budge. He wracked his brain trying to figure out how to get out of this alive.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

It was getting harder to breathe. The heat and smoke were invading his lungs. His body tried coughing to force the smoke out, but too much was being inhaled. John started to feel himself get dizzy with exhaustion. All he could see around him was the fire blazing and the smoke above him.

There was a loud slam across the warehouse, but John couldn't see through the flame to see what caused it.

"John! John where are you?"

Mycroft. 

John was almost too relieved to yell back. "I'm back here."

"The flames are too high. Keep yelling to lead us."

So John continued to yell for what felt a lifetime to him. When Mycroft, covered in a wet blanket, burst through the flame. Relief mixed with some other emotion John didn't have the energy to figure out flooded through his body.

Knowing Mycroft was there and he was now safe, John felt himself slip away into darkness. 

***

The sun was setting outside of his window when John woke back up. He reached up and scrubbed at his face trying to figure out why he felt like complete shit. His hands caught on tubes hooked under his nose. He looked around the blindingly white room not recognizing anything around him. It took a few moments before realization hit him that he was in a hospital room.

Then the memories flooded back to him. Mistaken identity. Fire. Mycroft. Two of those were par for the course living with Sherlock, but John was not used to being saved by the elder Holmes. He pushed himself up and struggled to swing his legs off the bed without giving into a dizzy spell.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

John whipped his head around, searching out the source of the voice. The sudden movement made the room spin and John was forced to lay back down with a groan until he got his equilibrium back.

Mycroft stepped out of the shadow he had been sitting in. "How are you feeling?"

John stared blankly at the older man. There were so many things he wanted to say warring inside of him. Thank you. Why are you here? Why were you the one to save me? I love you.

None of them came out. He just stared.

Mycroft strode to the end of the bed. John could only continue to stare, watching every move Mycroft made, unable to utter a single word.

"Well, it seems that your doctors think you are doing as well as expected." Mycroft looked up at John. "Maybe there is an unexpected muteness from the fire." He raised an eyebrow at John and John could feel the sarcasm washing over him. It was enough to loosen his tongue.

It ended up being a combination of all his thoughts and came out as a jumble. 

"I...What...Why..."

"Ah the eloquence of Dr. Watson." Mycroft smiled and John couldn't tell if the smile was more sarcasm or something more sincere. It did help give John the anger he needed to energize himself.

It was a Herculean effort, but he pushed himself off the bed and stormed to Mycroft. The look of surprise on Mycroft's face was worth the pain he put himself through, though.

Too bad the effect was ruined when the breathing tubes reminded John they only reached so far when they yanked him back. He moved back a few steps to give the tubes a little more slack.

Mycroft chuckled and when John threw a scathing glare at him, it turned into a full blown laugh. "Where is Sherlock?"

This had the effect of sobering Mycroft. "My brother is skulking around the warehouse you were trapped in. Trying to solve it. Saves me from having to restrain him from badgering your doctors."

John gave him a strange look. "Do you not want Sherlock investigating this?"

"Ah." Mycroft said in understanding. "No, I don't care what he does with it. I already had the responsible parties arrested. Just some two-bit crime boss seeking revenge, but not wanting to actually tangle with Sherlock." Mycroft waved his hand as if to wave the annoyance of attempted murder away.

"So he will probably be gone for a while?"

"Yes, until he figures out that I already took care of things." Mycroft glanced down at his watch. "You can expect him in approximately two hours and twenty-three minutes."

"Well in that case-" John took a step forward to close the gap between them, leaned up, and softly kissed the other man.

Mycroft stood still in shock. Of all the things he expected, he did not anticipate John kissing him.

"That's a thank you for saving my life." A faint pink spread across his cheeks.

Thoughts ran through Mycroft's mind in a split second analyzing what just happened and what it meant. When he came to a conclusion that was acceptable to him, he put a gentle hand on the back of John's head and pulled him into a kiss.

The heat spread from their lips down to Mycroft's groin. He pulled John closer, deepening the kiss. John responded better than Mycroft hoped for. He felt John nip at his bottom lip and fist at his shirt. Mycroft groaned and felt himself harden a little more.

John pulled away a little, breaking the kiss to rest their foreheads together. He tried to catch his breath, but had to turn his head away to cough. Mycroft moved his hand from John's neck to running it through his hair until John's coughing fit was over.

"Maybe we should wait a little longer. You know just until I'm a little more recovered."

Mycroft gave him another soft peck, then pulled away from the warmth of John Watson. He grasped John's hand, lead him back to the bed, and helped him settle back under the sheets. Almost as if he couldn't resist himself, John pushed himself up to bring Mycroft into another searing kiss. This time it was Mycroft who had the strength to pull back.

He slowly moved away from John, keeping his eyes shut. When he opened them again, barely six inches between their faces, John's deep brown eyes met his blues. John started gravitating back to Mycroft, but Mycroft changed John's trajectory and gave John another peck on the forehead.

Unbeknownst to the other, they both thought how they could easily get used to that.

Mycroft made his way to the door intending to leave. A voice calling out stopped him.

"Wait. So...um..." John looked down at his hands folded on top of the sheet. Mycroft could see his spine suddenly straighten before he lifted his head to stare dead on at Mycroft. With his usual confidence restored, John spoke up. "So does this mean what I think it means?"

Mycroft smiled. John was surprised to see it was actually a genuine smile.

"Do keep up, my dear Dr. Watson."


End file.
